


The Helex Drawl

by SureWhyNot9



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Literal and not so much, M/M, Pet Names, Sweet Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SureWhyNot9/pseuds/SureWhyNot9
Summary: It's not what you say, it's how you say it.





	The Helex Drawl

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Accent Headcanon Zone, where Whirl sounds like an Italian mobster and Helex is The South

“Ya know, pet names.” Swerve wondered if he’d mis-overheard Whirl despite how quiet the bar was at this hour.

He glanced over in time to catch the incredulous look Skids leveled at his de facto drinking buddy.

“Pet names.”

“Baby, darling, sugar, sweetspark, all that gross mushy stuff.” Whirl banged on the counter and waved at Swerve. “Hey! Hey, shortstack! I need ya to back me up on somethin’!”

Swerve rolled his optics and walked over to join Whirl and Skids. “What’s up?”

Whirl poked a clawtip into Skids’ chest without looking. “I need ya to tell this steel trap that humans use pet names for each other at bars and stuff.”

“In…bars?” he asked.

“Yeah! Ya know.” Whirl waved a claw and affected some kind of accent. “‘Hey honey, can I take yer order?’ Or ‘what can I get ya to drink, dear’.”

“Ohhhh, that’s what you meant. For starters I’m pretty sure it’s a regional thing. One of those be-careful-who-you-say-it-to deals where some people think it’s rude or patronizing and some people really like the personal touch. It just depends.” He ran his cloth around the rim of the already-dry glass in his hands. He’d been polishing it absent-mindedly as he talked and now it was so clean not even Ultra Magnus could find fault with it. He set in back with its fellows and picked up another. “Also, apparently neither of you have been to a bar in Helex, or at least you don’t remember it.”

“Hey!” Skids exclaimed indignantly.

“Look, it’s possible and you know it.” Swerve walked back over and leaned against the bar between the two of them. “I’m just saying, that’s what you got back home in Helex. Before the war. Places around Helex, too. Petrex, Tesaurus…plus smaller towns between the big cities in that part of the world.”

Skids swatted Whirl’s arm away where he’d been sneaking his claw closer, trying to steal his drink. “How come you don’t talk like that, then?”

“Because people think you’re mocking them if you call them nice things. And they’re not pet names when you’re just dropping them in casual conversation, Whirl.”

Whirl snickered. “Ya got somethin’ else to call ‘em?”

“I call them polite, not that you jerks would appreciate it.”

“Ya oughtta do that.”

Swerve paused, halfway back across the bar to change out glasses again. “I oughtta—what?”

“Ya oughtta call us sweet things while yer behind the bar.” Whirl’s optic curled into a sneaky smile. “Come on, flatter yer customers.”

Swerve shook his helm. “I spent four million years killing my accent, I’m not going to start talking like I did before, or else it might come back.”

“Oh come on, what could it hurt?” Skids teased. “Give us your best impression of someone charming.”

“What, now you don’t like my regular sunny disposition?”

“I didn’t say that.” Skids leaned across the bar and gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s just for fun! Give us a taste of that old-school Helex charm.”

Behind him, Whirl flopped his entire torso over the bar top and nodded his helm vigorously, his optic a gleeful, glowing crescent. “Yeah, c’mon! Pet names, pet names!”

Swerve sighed noisily, drowning Whirl out before he could start up chanting for real. “Ugh, fine, but only if you guy promise not to make fun of me for it. This is your idea.”

“I promise! No making fun.”

“Suuure, I ~promise~ I won’t.” Whirl made exaggerated air quotes around ‘promise’ with his claws, but he was still in that playful, smiley way that meant he probably wouldn’t tease Swerve about it too badly…? It wasn’t worth the hassle to back out now anyway, Whirl would just keep begging until he gave in.

“Alright, alright, just… give me a second. It’s been a while.” He set down the glass he was holding and twisted his towel between his hands. It had been a very long time since he’d spoken with a Helex drawl. Since Helex was one of the first five cities to fall to the Decepticons, that way of speaking had certain connotations beyond the accent itself, and he’d adopted the “neutral” Iacon accent to avoid getting _looks_ from other Autobot scientists when he spoke.

After a few seconds, Skids spoke up again. “…Swerve?”

“Ya need help gettin’ it up?” Whirl needled.

“Hush!” Swerve waved a hand at them without looking. “I’m getting there, keep your plating on.”

He heard Skids smack Whirl’s shoulder. “Take your time.”

Okay, he need to focus. He was a bartender. A bartender in Helex, for the sake of this…whatever this was. If he could rewind his way of thinking back far enough for this, he’d be a Helex bartender, chatting up a couple regulars on a slow afternoon. Maybe putting on a little extra charm because they were a couple of jerks who caused less trouble when they were entertained. Swerve tossed the towel so it lay over his shoulder and turned on his heel to face them, his smile wide and easy. “How y’all doin’ t’day?”

The shocked look on Skids’ face was priceless.

Swerve grinned and sauntered over to lean on the bar in front of him. “What’s a’matter, sugar? Drink not to y’likin’?”

“No, it’s, uh—” he looked down at the drink in his hands, then back at Swerve.

“I can make a new one if y’don’t mind waitin’ on it. I can’t have one’a my best customers sittin’ here disappointed.”

Whirl grabbed Skids’ drink and yanked it away. He dunked his proboscis into it. “He needs a new one.”

Skids gave Whirl an annoyed glance. “Yeah, apparently I do.”

“Well, what can I get for ya?” He knew all Skids’ regular drinks, but it was more fun to ask. He rattled off the last few things Skids had tried and liked. “Screwdriver? Blue Bombshell? Iacon Drop? Old Corroder? Rusted Sunrise? Pink Seeker? Hot Frag?”

“I’d take that last one!” Whirl piped, his speech uninhibited by the drink he was quickly draining.

Swerve waved the towel in his direction. “Keep yer rotors on rest, I’m gonna get t’you next.” He gave Skids a glittering smile. “Ya need s’more time t’think it over, darlin’?”

Skids seemed a little flustered. “Maybe you should surprise me.”

“That I can do. D’ya want somethin’ new, or tried an’ true?”

“Something new.”

Swerve beamed. “You got it, hon.”

“Chat him up while ya make his drink!” Whirl said. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

“What, y’think I’d leave y’all t’languish without my sparklin’ personality t’keep ya company? Hardly!” He busied himself getting what he needed to make Skids’ drink. “I might hafta do that if I had a packed house, but on a day like t’day y’all’re gettin’ my full an’ undivided attention.”

“That drink yer makin’ isn’t gettin’ any?” Whirl teased.

“What, this ol’ thing? It don’t need it.” He barely had to watch what his hands were doing with something this simple. “If I give it too much attention it might get shy.”

Whirl’s stabilizers fluttered and he wiggled on his stool. “That doesn’t make any sense!” He said giddily.

“It don’t hafta make sense t’you, it makes sense t’me an’ that’s what counts.” He set the drink in front of Skids with a flourish. “There y’go! One Aviation.” Whirl abandoned his stolen drink and reached for the new one. Swerve swatted his claw away. “If ya want a drink, yer gonna hafta order yer own.”

“Ooh!” Whirl’s optic spiraled wide and he loomed over the bar, his field crackling with anticipation. “Do me next!”

“Whirl—”

He leaned down, into Swerve’s space. “Come onnnn! I want the full effect!”

Swerve rolled his optics and stepped up on the ledge next to the bar so he was up a little higher, invading Whirl’s personal space in return. “A’ight then Rover, how can I help ya t’day?”  
There was a long, long pause where he and Whirl just stared at each other. Anxiety bloomed in Swerve’s fuel tank and started sending out shoots. He was getting the feeling he’d miscalculated.

Skids broke the silence. “.....Rover?”

Whirl’s optic squinted into a smile and he tipped over backwards, howling with laughter. “Rover!” He stumbled over the barstool he’d been occupying and sprawled onto the floor with a resounding crash. His awkward double-jointed legs kicked at the air while he cackled. “Rover! That’s brilliant!”

Swerve leaned over the bar to enjoy the view, his elbows resting on the bar top and his chin propped in his hands. “Yeah, y’know? Rover. S’a pet name, jus’ like y’asked for.”

“It’s a literal pet name! For a dog!” Whirl flailed his claws in the air. His voice was squeaky with mirth.

“S’whatcha asked for, Whirlybird.” One of Whirl’s legs kicked up and his foot landed on the bar next to Swerve. He laughed and pushed it back off. “Are y’gonna order yerself a drink r’not?”

Whirl flailed his way upright and scrambled over to the bar counter. He pulled himself up so he was optic to visor with Swerve. “I want another one of those.”

“What Skids was havin’?”  
“Another pet name.”

“So ‘Whirlybird’ don’t count, huh? Hmm…” Swerve tapped his chin in an exaggerated thinking gesture. “How ‘bout Spot?”

“Another!”

“Mm… Rocky.”

Whirl tittered and tapped rhythmically on the bar top. “That’s too badass, it doesn’t count.”

“Fido?”

“Now we’re talkin’!”

Swerve laughed. “I can go all night, sugar.” Whirl’s optic went wide and his vents audibly stalled. Swerve grinned. “What? S’one’a the top classic dog names on Earth, I swear.”

“Right.” Whirl was awful close now. Swerve hadn’t been paying much attention to how into one another’s space they were since their initial staredown. Whirl tapped on the bar again. “Another?”

“I dunno, honey, I prob’ly got things I oughtta be doin’ other’n standin’ here sweet-talkin’ ya t’death. Plus I’m gonna run outta good dog names eventually an’ I’ll hafta start in on the ones that’re jus’ human names people gave t’dogs.”

“Don’t care.”

“A’ight, sweetspark, if y’really don’t care I can keep goin’. Maybe I oughtta charge for this. Not the sweet talkin’, though, jus’ the accent.” Whirl’s optic was starting to dim slightly, going soft and gold as the light diffused. “Y’know, I should really be callin’ ya by pet bird names, but there’s somethin’ a li’l less soft ‘bout callin ya ‘Mr. Peepers’ or somethin’.”

Whirl made a soft ‘pfft’ noise and a sound that was almost a giggle. “I can handle that, I’m tough enough.”

Swerve snorted but went along with it anyway. He didn’t exactly have a list of pet-creature names on hand, so he started by guessing at things that sounded like they could be names. “Adora.”

“Mm.”

“Joy.”

“ _Mm_ …”

“Graceful.”

“Hell yeah I am.” Whirl was almost mumbling now, his optic dim enough that it was barely visible in the full light of the room.

“Doll.” Okay, that was less of a literal pet name and more of a figurative pet name. “Sunshine.” Yeah…now he was just murmuring sweet nothings to Whirl while he melted into a puddle of helicopter in front of him. “Darlin’, y’seem like yer gonna slip right inta recharge here on the floor. That don’t seem comfy at all. Wouldn’tcha rather snuggle up somewhere in a nice berth?”

Whirl’s engine idled into a purr. “Sure, does mine work for ya?”

“Whirl, I’m runnin’ a bar. I can’t go galavantin’ off with ya in the middle’a my shift.”

“Come onnnn…” He reached up and gently touched the back of his claw to Swerve’s face. The show of tenderness sent a shiver down Swerve’s spinal chain. “We don’t have to do the usual stuff. I’ll do anythin’ ya want. We can take a trip to Nap Town.”

Swerve laughed, surprised. “‘Nap Town’?”

Whirl’s optic brightened slightly, but the light stayed soft. “Hell yeah. Lemme take ya on a ride in the big bad Whirlybird all the way to Nap Town. Ya always seem so tired, Swervester, I can help ya out with that.”

“I think we’re flirtin’, Whirl, but honest t’Primus I can’t tell if it’s serious r’not.”

“I’m always serious. Except when I’m not. But I’m not jokin’ about this one.” The claw that was stroking Swerve’s cheek trailed down and hooked under his chin. “Make someone else do the bar tonight.”

“Swerve—” Whirl waved an arm out to the side and there was a clunk and an indignant curse. Swerve had forgotten Skids was even there.

“Shh… stay outta this, Skidoo.” Whirl retrieved his arm and settled his other claw on Swerve’s shoulder. “What do ya say?”

…Swerve could call Bluestreak in to work with Atomizer to cover the end of shift rush. It probably wouldn’t be anything the two of them couldn’t handle together. Plus if they had a problem they could always comm him, it wasn’t like he was disappearing entirely. “I’ve gotta make a couple’a calls afore I can leave. Don’t wanna abandon the place, y'know?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Whirl smiled, his optic a soft curve of sunshine. “Glad to hear it.”


End file.
